


Taste

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bloodplay, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron and Starscream celebrate the restoration of Vos by drinking together. This gets vulgar quickly. And also bloody. Because that is how these filthy bastards roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really think the consent is dubious here; neither of them is overcharged to the point of being seriously impaired. But they are imbibing, so I've tagged it in case anyone who would prefer not to read it at all wants to avoid it.
> 
> Thanks to [raelling](http://raelling.tumblr.com) for beta reading.

Megatron swirled the liquid in his cup. It gleamed, a bright quicksilver color. The sunset outside blazed orange, and the reflective liquid caught it, burnished gold eddying over itself. 

It was nothing like the fluorescent blue of the energon rations he’d drunk through long years of war, much less the faintly glowing sludge he’d choked down during his years in the mines. The only hint that the gleaming liquid served as fuel was a faint bluish tinge to the light playing on it. 

And the smell, heady and crisp, sharp as the spires of the city, their filigree rising to pierce the clouds. It went to his head before he even tasted the drink, his processor spinning with anticipation, the bright light of the sunset dancing in his mind. 

But his elation was about far more than high-grade fuel. Fancy as the drink was, he'd been intoxicated before. The scintillating feeling flaring through his circuits came from more than that. 

It came from the fiery glow of the sun on the towers. It came from the wide open windows, looking out on pristine skies. Even the tallest of the city's spires could not reach them here. 

It came from the mech sitting at his feet, stirring restlessly even as Megatron’s free claws reached down to curl over his shoulder. 

He clutched his own goblet in a slender hand. Megatron caught the glint of the silvery liquid sloshing in his half-empty cup. Stretching, he leaned toward Megatron, his wings flicking in anticipation, a wide smirk curling freshly polished faceplates. 

“Well, what do you think, _my lord_?” he purred, too much eagerness lacing voice for the sultry tone he intended. His vocalizer crackled with static. 

 _Overcharged already, Starscream?_ Megatron mused, snickering softly. 

It wasn’t likely. Although the Seekers of Vos were small and light, they needed highly refined and processed fuel to function properly. Their slender frames were built for speed and agility; high-grade energon was designed to give them the energy they needed to fly fast and far without tiring. 

The pleasant buzz of excess charge was only a side effect, and one that usually affected mechs like Megatron far more. Megatron’s frame was broad and sturdy, built for work in the mines, not for flight above the skies of Vos. 

But even Seekers could get overcharged if they tried hard enough, and for countless years, Starscream had flown at Megatron’s side, fueled by the same energon as any other Decepticon in the army. They hadn’t had access to properly refined high-grade since the early days of the war. 

And the high-grade they were drinking was rarer still. A blend like this was made only in Vos. Once the city had fallen, razed to ash in the early days of the war, the Seekers' stores of precious fuel had quickly dwindled. 

But now Vos was rebuilt. Now Starscream was home, restored to his place as its Winglord. 

Now he had what he should have had all along. 

Megatron’s engines hummed in a low purr of their own. “I haven’t tasted it yet.” He grinned back at Starscream, his smile a ring of sharpened fangs. “Be patient, if it’s possible for you.” 

The other mech responded by moving even closer, his optics wide and staring, his slender body pressing close against Megatron’s legs. 

The metal of Starscream’s frame was hot, the spark beneath his chest crackling with anticipation. 

Or with something more. They’d finally won, after all. 

Growling, Megatron lifted the goblet to his lips. Then he drank deep, the silken texture of the energon flowing smoothly down his throat. 

Intensely refined as it was, he expected it to burn going down. It didn’t, not really, its warmth a slow, scintillating glow just beginning to heat his systems. Subtle flavors filled his mouth and throat, teasing the sensors there: the faint tang of minerals; the crystalline bite of an aftertaste, bracing and bitter.

Had he been alone, he might have savored them. He was not used to fine things, but he had always wanted them. And he was a king now, lord of his people, the rebuilt cities of his planet, glittering trophies laid out at his feet. 

He was not alone, however, and although he had never had the chance to savor or to study the flavor of the energon, he knew the smell and taste of the drink already.

It smelled and tasted like _him._  

The optics inches from Megatron’s face were wide and unnaturally bright, flickering from the excess charge. Starscream’s wings clicked, restless as he waited. 

Megatron tightened his grip on Starscream’s shoulder. The slim frame he held shuddered, trembling under his claws as he hoisted the smaller mech up and deposited him on his lap. 

Starscream’s optics flickered, then widened in surprise. Megatron could feel the heat of Starscream’s frame as he settled astride one of the big mech’s thighs, cooling fans whirring as he squirmed. 

“M -- Master?” 

Megatron grinned, his hand sliding over Starscream’s back, clutching at the space between the wing joints. In his free hand, he held aloft the goblet full of high-grade. 

“You wanted to know what I think of this,” he said. 

Starscream’s head tilted. “Well, yes. It _is_ a delicacy.” 

Not waiting to hear more, Megatron flung the glass away from him with a sudden and violent gesture. 

It spun as it fell through the air. Starscream’s wings clicked frantically as he watched it fall. Then it hit the floor, shattering into pieces against the unyielding metal. They lay in a sparkling, reflective pool, gilded by the sunset’s fiery light. 

“You’re wasting it!” Starscream shrieked, his optics irising still wider. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Megatron answered, smirking at the back of Starscream’s head. “We have plenty.” 

Starscream stared at Megatron for a long moment, then slowly turned his head, his gaze following the trail of shimmering liquid spattering the floor to the energon pooled around the broken goblet. 

“I haven’t tasted proper fuel in millennia, Megatron!” Starscream howled, wriggling in agitation. “And you --!” 

Megatron shuttered his optics, willing himself to ignore the sensation of Starscream moving on him. That would come soon enough. 

He paused a moment to collect himself and spoke in a calm, quiet tone. “And I what, Starscream?” 

Starscream fell silent. His optics narrowed to glittering slits as he considered how to answer. Then, finally, he swept his wings downward in a display of humility and waved a slender hand in front of him. 

“Well, master, it’s just that you’ve surely known far greater privation than I ever have. Working in the mines. Killing other mechs in the gladiator pits just to earn enough fuel to function.” 

“I fought for glory, Starcream,” Megatron rumbled. “Not for fuel. I could have taken that from anyone, had I needed to. 

Starscream hissed again. “All the same, _my lord,_ I never would have thought you would throw something so precious away.” 

“Technically I haven’t. That floor is as clean as the day it was laid down.” 

Megatron raised his free arm, pointing one claw at the mess. “If you’re so concerned about wasting the energon, you could always crawl over there and lick it up.” 

Starscream whirled around, his vents expelling an angry hiss of air. “Is _that_ what this is about? You want me to get down on the floor and --” 

Megatron’s sharp smile only widened. “It is an enticing thought. But as pleasant as it would be to watch you do it, that wasn’t my intention.” 

Starscream’s optics narrowed to glittering slits. His scowl deepened and his wings flared out. Megatron was Starscream’s leader, yes, but Starscream had once been a prince. And now Vos was rebuilt, whole and pristine. He had his kingdom back. If there was ever a time to challenge his master again, it was now. 

But Starscream knew these games too well. As he himself had said, Megatron was not a wasteful mech. To toss aside a nearly full goblet of fine high-grade from the renewed Vos, as if it was nothing, made no sense unless Megatron had something in mind. 

Megatron moved his claws over Starscream’s back again, petting the plating lightly. Starscream clicked his wings in feeble protest but arched into the touch anyway, spitting a curse at himself for responding and at Megatron for knowing he would. 

“Fine,” he hissed after a moment, his voice soft and accusing. “You win. If you aren’t just interested in watching me abase myself for your amusement, I have no idea what it is you want.” 

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

To his credit, Starscream didn’t launch into another tirade. He simply lapsed into sullen silence, glaring at his master and waiting for the answers he couldn’t guess. 

“I was answering you,” Megatron said. 

“I wanted to know if you liked the energon,” Starscream began, a hum of thoughtful static lacing his words. 

“I did like it, Starscream. It’s by far the best fuel I have ever tasted. But you knew that already.” 

Before Starscream had a chance to protest, Megatron lowered his free hand to Starscream’s chest. He curled his claws inward, pressing their tips against the metal of Starscream’s chest plate. The Seeker shivered under his touch. 

“I --” Starscream began. 

Slowly, Megatron drew one claw down Starscream’s chest plate. It bit deep, scoring a dark line down the metal. Energon welled up in the cut, blue and fluorescent. 

Starscream cried out, his wings fluttering, and writhed against Megatron’s thigh. The hand on Starscream’s back opened, sliding up to touch one wing. With exaggerated tenderness, Megatron moved his fingertips lightly along its edge, his engines purring in a soothing rhythm. 

Starscream stilled again. Megatron could feel the heat of the Seeker’s pelvic plating pressed against his thigh, and the first hints of lubricant oozing from beneath the cover of his valve to pool on Megatron’s plating. 

Starscream looked up at him, optics wide. 

 “I didn’t throw away the cup because I didn’t want the energon,” Megatron purred, his optics fixing on the wound and the glowing liquid pouring from it. 

“I threw the cup away because I would rather drink it from the source,” he continued, lowering his head to Starscream’s chest and opening his mouth. 

Starscream stammered something, some protest about Megatron’s recklessness, but it dissolved into a moan as Megatron’s glossa moved on the wound his claw had left. 

Megatron heard the telltale click of Starscream’s valve cover as it slid aside, and felt the hot wet heat of a fresh gush of Starscream's lubricant oozing onto his thigh. 

But even that was nothing compared to the scent of the energon. It filled Megatron’s olfactory receptors and danced through his processor, its glow as evanescent as the bright glow of the setting sun outside.

He’d made Starscream bleed countless times before. It was probably simple imagination, but every time, he’d caught the faint scent of the old City on him. An exotic reminder of the difference between them, it made him yearn to meet the young Winglord here, polished and pristine, in the Vos he had lost.

And now it was real, that tantalizing thread of memory a bright reality. It set him reeling, the bright light of the sunset over Vos cascading in his mind even as Starscream’s energon ran pure and perfect over his scarred lips and exposed fangs.

He felt Starscream’s claws curl around his head, desperate and demanding, pressing him closer, and another wet heat as Starscream ground the rim of his exposed valve against Megatron’s thigh, smearing the lubricant he’d already left there.

Megatron felt his spike stir beneath its housing, pressurizing painfully.

He wrapped his claws tight around Starscream’s wing, willing himself to wait. There would be plenty of time for that soon enough.

Right now, he wanted only this.


End file.
